The Hunter
by Masako Moonshade
Summary: The new managers of Opera Populaire have hired an assassin...to kill an opera ghost? An assassin seeks to do the impossible, while a Phantom fights for his life.
1. Chapter 1: Buy me a Killer

Disclaimer: I don't own Phantom. I wish I did though...

AN: This takes place... during the movie. Basically in the time when the Phantom disappears before the masquerade.

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**The Hunt**

**Chapter 1: Buy Me A Killer

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"You're joking." Scythe's eyes had no humor in them.

"Not at all" Andre cried.

"Please! We beg of you" Firmin chimed in.

"We need you" Scythe paid little attention. The men were fools. But what they suggested...

"Very well...And why not" an amused chuckle sounded. "Who better to kill a ghost...than a demon" The assassin ran one finger down a shining blade. "That is why you summoned me, is it not"

The two managers looked uneasily at each other.

"Yes" Firmin said finally.

"And my fee" Scythe's eyes flashed beneath the darkness of a hood.

"Yes... A hundred thousand..." he swallowed at the massive sum"For the head of the Phantom on a platter."

"Monsieur Firmin! I must object" Madame Giri cried suddenly.

"Object all you want, Madame, but this Phantom must be destroyed! He is terrorizing our performers! If he is not stopped"

"But kill him? Such cruelty is uncalled for! It is monstrous"

"Madame, if you disagree so strongly, then I suggest you leave"

"She has a point" Scythe said casually. Both of the managers froze at the sound of the icy voice.

"Sh-she does" Andre asked timidly. The assassin shrugged.

"Indeed. Killing such a phantom would be a pleasure, of course, but catching him alive... that would be a fine game."

"It...would" The assassin's hooded head turned in distaste.

"Any imbecile can kill a man, Andre" the last word emerged as little more than a hiss. The hood turned to face Madame Giri. "Is this suitable" The woman nodded. "Very well. I will begin tomorrow." Scythe stood fluidly. "If you have no other business with me, I bid you adieu."


	2. Chapter 2: Beast in Black

**Chapter 2: Beast in Black**

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Disclaimer: I don't own anything but Scythe. So back off, lawyers, or I'll sick my private assassin on you!

AN: my sincerest apologies. In the previous chapter, I misspelled Madame Giry's name. I'm very sorry! And thank you for pointing out my mistake, E.M.K.. I really appreciate it, so giant chocolate hugs to you!

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A dark figure made its way through the rain. Nothing could be gathered from the figure- its size, shape, indeed everything about it had been obscured by layers of loose garments that had been thoughtlessly been tossed over a roughly human form. The shadow slid into the Opera Populaire.

"Firmin," an icy voice wove out of the layers of dark fabric. "Andre." The two managers jumped at the familiar sound and rushed to meet the figure.

"Ah..." Andre stammered. "Monsieur Scythe...The man of the hour has arrived at last...to rid us...of..." he did not continue, paralyzed by the icy glare of the assassin.

"Monsieur...Scythe...?" Firmin tried to suppress a whimper. Two gloved hands took hold of several folds of fabric at the top of the figure's head.

"What makes you think," Scythe hissed "That I am a man?" The hoods fell back revealing a young woman, her eyes the same pale blue of the assassin.

"Madame Scythe, then?" Madame Giry asked calmly. Scythe turned to face the older woman.

"I am," she said quietly. She returned her glance at the two men. "I expect no hindrance in my work. If I want any assistance, I will ask for it personally. Is that understood?" The managers had found their courage during the instruction.

"Now see here, Mademoiselle!" Andre said indignantly. "Monsieur Firmin and I are paying good money for the best assassin in France! There is no room for a girl's...frolicking...here! We demand the services of Scythe himself!" he was cut short as a fine, jeweled dagger was pressed against his throat.

"It is not wise to insult an assassin," the girl said icily. "I assure you that I am Scythe." Her voice was now drawn into the sameheartless hiss they had heard from the 'man' they had hired. There was little doubt about the girl's identity anymore.

"Yes, yes, quite right, Madame," Andre whimpered.

"But...why the deception..." Firmin mumbled.

"What deception?" The assassin scoffed. "When did I ever claim to be a man? But Madame Giry, perhaps you can answer this simpleton's question..." As always, the woman showed no signs of intimidation.

"You provide your own example, Monsieur," she said steadily. "Many would be reluctant to knowingly hire a woman to kill a man, would they not?"

"Thank you. Now, do you two morons need any more explanations, or may I get on with my work?"

Silence.

"Very well. I expect no interference in my work. If I require any assistance, I will personally inquire about it. I will lodge within the opera house, which I trust will cause no difficulties."

"Madame?" Andre said timidly. Scythe turned her glacier colored eyes on the man. He took this as a cue to speak. "In the opera house? Do you want us to prepare a room"

"No. I will sleep wherever suits me, whenever it suits me. Again, I expect no interference. Understood?" The managers nodded meekly. Scythe adjusted her cloak and walked silently away, toward one of the corridors.

"Ah...Madame Scythe!" Firmin asked suddenly. The assassin stopped, but did not further acknowledge the address. "How long may we expect this to take?"

Scythe looked up at one of the balcony boxes, her face impassive.

"I don't know," she said quietly. "How long does it usually take _you_ to kill a ghost?" Hearing no reply, she continued her march and slowly melted into the darkness of the corridor.

The Phantom of the Opera straightened, unwrapping himself from the curtain where he had taken refuge. That girl, the one in the black cloak, had stared right at him. Had she seen him? No, he told himself. His mask- the cursed mask- had probably caught a stray beam of light and attracted her eye. She couldn't have seen him. It was impossible.

And yet...

Bits of the previous conversation chased themselves through his mind.

'To kill a man...'

'Assassin...'

'How long does it take...to kill a ghost?'

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AN: So Erik is finally in the story. Trust me, it gets better later. Did it surprise you at all that Scythe was a woman? Please Review! 


	3. Chapter 3: Foolish Games

Disclaimer: Do you think that I own anything? Nope. Nothing. Try to sue me, though. I think I have three dollars to my name right now, as well as a billion germs.

AN: I'm sick right now. I have a fever of 102, I've been coughing my head out, and slept about 18 hours yesterday. Therefore, if you think there's something odd about the chapter, blame an overdose of cough medicine. Oh, and, yes, there will be action in the next chapter. I just couldn't get it in this one without making it too long.

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**Chapter 3: Foolish Games **

It hadn't taken the Phantom long to locate Scythe later that night. After a short disappearance, he had found her wandering the hallways, a small lantern in one hand. She was missing several of the layers that she had worn earlier, and now bore a tight fitting outfit, trimmed with leather, over which she wore a black cloak. It was now evident that she was quite small, though well muscled. All in all, not a terrible threat to a master such as himself. He followed her through the halls, himself keeping to the secret paths he had created. Hidden above a false ceiling, he glanced down at the would be assassin, holding back a scornful laugh as he watched her stop occasionally and examine a painting or a candelabra. He was quite amused, therefore, when she stopped again, in the middle of a hallway. But rather than examining another random trinket, she threw back her head and laughed. The Phantom recoiled at the sound: it was familiar, but unlike anything he had heard come from the girls of the opera. This laugh was cold and merciless, absolutely relentless in its cruelty.

"So, dear Ghost!" the assassin taunted. "Do you enjoy watching me work? Tell me! Are you afraid to die?"

The Phantom said nothing. His muscles froze. His breath became inaudible. He had made an art of disappearing into the darkness, and performed it flawlessly.

"Yes, dear Ghost. Very good. I did hope this would be a challenging hunt." Scythe said no more, and raised her lantern and continued her walk. The Phantom did not follow.

A few minutes later, he found himself sitting in his boat, drifting idly, not far from his sleeping chamber. He wore a satisfied smile: he had figured the wretched girl out. No doubt she had only made a rough guess, and sneered those words into a seemingly empty darkness. Of course, it was a clever plan on her behalf, without downside: if he was close enough to hear, he would be thoroughly intimidated, though if he wasn't there would be nobody to hear the threat, and she would have lost nothing. He laughed softly. The girl was indeed clever, but he was the genius.

The next morning came without further incident. The Phantom wandered his corridors without worry, and the girl still roamed uselessly through the main hallways, examining every minor prop and ornament like a fool. He felt both amused and insulted that such an idiot would be hired to slay him. After several sightings of the wretched child- for she was indeed a child, no older than his Christine- he noticed a rise in her cloak, close to her right shoulder. He also noticed, little thing though it was, that she never bent over. She avoided picking thins up off the ground, and when she did, she dropped to her knees. He withheld a laugh. So the girl was a hunchback! No wonder she chose to be a killer, rather than hold any respectable career. No doubt she felt too ashamed of the deformity to seek a husband!

How had she come upon assassination, though? The Phantom felt the slightest vein of sympathy. Perhaps her past might not have been so different from his own. He realized what he had been thinking and shook himself. Such softness! Such sympathy for such an arrogant and unprincipled grisette.

Days passed. The girl began to spend less time searching the Opera House, instead occupying herself by interviewing the performers. To these, she was a 'guest of the Opera,' a dismal little thing with an acute interest in all things otherworldly. Though some were annoyed at her constantly being underfoot, most of the performers were happy to retell their stories of the dreaded Opera Ghost to such an eager audience. The Phantom listened as well, highly amused at the various renditions.

"I see...So the Ghost has six heads?" Scythe asked, no hint of skepticism in her voice.

"Of course, Sarah!" Evidently 'Scythe' was too brutal a name for such a harmless 'guest.' "And he can remove these heads! He puts one in all of his haunts, you see, and call to you from a hundred places at once!" Ubaldo Piangi was apparently enjoying himself.

"Of course, being a ghost, he could do that," 'Sarah' agreed.

"Yes! So you must never think that you are safe if his voice can be heard from far away. His hands may be right behind you, ready to strangle you on his Punjab lasso!"

"A lasso..." the assassin repeated.

"Indeed. In fact, he killed one of our men, Monsieur Reyer, not two weeks ago. Hung 'im dead, right on stage, in front of everybody. A terrible tragedy, terrible."

"A horror of horrors," 'Sarah' acquiesced. "But tell me, do you know if he had any reason for such slaughter?"

"Reason? He's a Ghost, and mad to boot! He don't need no reason!"

"Perhaps," the girl shrugged innocently. "But I understand that everyone, even the deranged and the dead, require reasons for their actions. Are you sure there was nothing? Nothing at all? You are, after all, the expert on the Ghost." That did it. The Phantom withheld a scornful laugh. How easily the simple succumbed to flattery.

"If that demon has any purpose at all, then it appears that poor Mademoiselle Daae is his motivation. At least, so she believes," Piangi said mournfully.

"Oh? How so?" The Phantom saw that she was genuinely interested now.

"The Ghost sent out a number of notes, just before the tragedy, all of them full of lunatic instructions. One of them was that Christine Daae play the lead in the oncoming performance. We ignored this, and Madame Carlotta played the part instead. Well..." a call was heard from one of the hallways, announcing a rehearsal in a few minutes. "Things went from good to bad all too quickly, and Reyer found himself hanging from the catwalk over the stage," he finished quickly.

"I see," Scythe said quietly. "Thank you. It was a fine tale."


	4. Chapter 4: Everybody Wears A Mask

AN: Forgive the earlier misconception: it was Joseph Buquet who was killed, not Reyer. Thanks to Karla for the correction. Most humble appolagies for the mistake!

Disclaimer: If I owned Phantom, I wouldn't be nearly as thrilled as I am about getting a job at Kroger, now would I?

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**Chapter 4: Everybody Wears A Mask**

The Phantom watched in mild interest as the performers gathered for rehearsal. A few minutes after they congealed, he saw Scythe walk in, seating herself in one of the cushioned chairs in the middle of the theater. The performers made no sign of noticing her. They probably didn't, considering the racket Carlotta was making, as usual. The brightness of the stage no doubt obscured anything as dark and far away as the would be assassin, painting her virtually invisible. The Phantom chuckled in amusement from his box.

So the child had taken a break! Was she tired from listening to stories and playing with toys? How had he ever even considered being intimidated by such a lazy, foolish girl?

As the shrew Carlotta quieted down, thanks to the bribery of the two managers, rehearsal began. The Phantom watched in interest, taken by the music, despite Carlotta's shrieking. He hummed a gentle harmony against the thrum of he organ. Finally, Christine arrived on stage, her own beautiful voice and delicate steps driving away the drab of Carlotta's performance. The Phantom stood and stepped against the rail of his box, taking in the sweet sound of her voice, hoping to absorb every aspect of his dear pupil. He no longer noticed Scythe below him. Even if he had, he would not have thought anything about her leaving her chair and sinking to her knees. He noticed Christine only.

That is, until he heard a soft flick and a hollow thud, and felt his cloak jerk behind him.

Looking back, he saw the fabric of his garment pinned to the floor of the box by something long and thin. He pulled the offending item from the wooden floor and examined it in the light that radiated from the stage.

It was an arrow.

He looked down, searching for the source of the missile. Far below him, in the darkness of the theater, he finally saw Scythe. She was holding a bow in her hand and was still gazing intently up- straight at the Phantom.

He uttered several silent curses and stormed from his box in a rage. This wretched witch had made her last mistake!

"Scythe!" The assassin looked up casually as the older woman hissed her name, taking her shoulder in a death grip. "Please...come...outside..." Scythe shrugged and obeyed, lazily following Madame Giry out of the theater. She smirked as the woman's face came into light, revealing a miserable attempt to hide extreme distress. A few moments later they came to a halt in one of the dressing rooms. The assassin leaned against a wall, tracing her bowstring between her fingers.

"Is something wrong?" she asked innocently.

"Wrong!...What...What is that?" Madame Giry asked, her hand shaking as she pointed to the weapon.

"This? Most people refer to it as a bow. Quiter than a gun, I've noticed. And it smells better. And much less erratic, if I may add. Outdated, perhaps, but still superior."

"Frankly, I don't care!" Madame Giry almost shrieked. "What in the world made you think to bring such a...such a weapon near my girls! And the Ghost! I though we had an agreement! You said-"

"I assure you, your girls are safe. That is another point of this weapon that I enjoy: unless fitted with an arrow, it can do no harm. Nor will it kill with one hit, unless it strikes the heart or the head. Which, I assure you, it did not."

"Scythe, I don't care! Your behavior is endangering everyone in this theater! I will not allow harm to come to my girls!"

"None will. I assure you of that." The assassin's silvery eyes flashed. Slowly, Madame Giry regained her composure.

"You...remember the arrangement?" she said slowly.

"If possible, the 'Phantom' will be captured, not killed," Scythe recited lazily, toying with her bowstring again.

"Do not expect me to help you catch him."

"Why would I? Why kill all the challenge of the hunt by enlisting in your help? Someone who knows the secrets of this place as well as your ghostly little friend does? No. I assure you, I have more honor than that. And besides," she said, opening the door as she straightened. "I doubt that you would make it any easier to find him. Now, I really must be going. Adieu." She stepped out of the dressing room, and with a flick of her cloak, was gone.

"Mademoiselle Daae! Mademoiselle Daae!"

"Oh! Good evening, Sarah," Christine Daae said kindly.

"I just saw you at the rehearsal, Mademoiselle. You were amazing!"

"I think you give me too much credit, Sarah," Christine said, flattered nonetheless.

"Not at all. I'm surprised you aren't playing the lead."

"I appreciate the sentiment, but that is Madame Carlotta's role. Remember that she is the diva."

The Phantom watched in irritation. What was the little assassin girl doing now? If he ever doubted her stupidity before, the doubts were dispelled now. She was acting like a complete child! And what ws she thinking, annoying his Christine like that? The little wretch...

"Ho! Well, Christine, it seems you have caught yourself a little friend!" Carlotta crowed, approaching the two girls.

"Good evening, Calotta," Christine said, shortly echoed by 'Sarah'.

"So, little Sarah," the prima donna trilled. "Will you be joining us for dinner?"

"Perhaps in a little bit," 'Sarah' said shyly. "There is something I need to take care of first. But please- go ahead. Don't let me hold you up." She turned and began walking away, and the two singers took their cues and left for dinner. Once they were out of earshot, the assassin stopped.

"Enjoying the show?" she asked quietly. The Phantom clenched his teeth. "Come now, don't be shy. After all, I'm sure you must be quite proud of Christine...Your favorite, right?" the last phrase was little more than a hiss.

"Insolent girl..." he sussurrated.

"So the ghost has a voice!" Scythe laughed quietly. "I suspected as much."

"As I suspected no less than absolute foolishness from a child like yourself."

"Foolishnes? Oh, you mean that mask?" Scythe smirked. "Don't be surprised, dear Ghost. You are not the only one who wears them." She said no more and left to join the other girls.


	5. Chapter 5: 'Till Death Do Us Part

Disclaimer: I'm sick as a dog and broke as a hamster. Do you honestly think that I own Phantom?

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**Chapter 5: Death Do Us Part**

The Phantom watched in disgust as the arrogant girl slept. She was resting in one of the chairs in the back of the theater, not far away from one of the lower balconies.

So...he longed to shout, not only does she threaten ME in MY Opera House, but now she sleeps here as though she owns it!

Scythe was slowly driving him mad. If her previous antics were not enough, she had been stalking Christine, under the guise of a devoted fan, for the past few weeks and would give the sweet girl neither peace nor privacy. Just as infuriating was the fact that every time he tried to get near, Scythe would pause and adjust her cloak, so he alone could see one of her daggers, waiting in its sheath. For he now knew what the 'leather ornaments' on her clothes were: several knives and daggers, and a quiver of arrows at her hip. He was tempted beyond beleif to leap out and wring her scrawny neck...

But that was exactly what she wanted, most likely. To reveal himself to her. And he couldn't make Christine watch another death...she had seen far too much of it already, between her own father's dying and Buquet's unfortunate, though necessary, demise, she was under terrible stress.

The Phantom smiled to himself as he lowered the rope from the balcony railing. One end had already been tied into a Punjab lasso, and slipped easily around the girl's head. She was none the wiser. And she wouldn't be, until it was too late. Carefully, he pulled the girl's daggers from thier scabbards, one by one, always sure not to wake the assassin. He removed the arrows with the same caution. There would be no escape for her. Finally sure of his victory, he lay the weapons down several rows away, and took the untied end of the rope in his hand. A single hard jerk, and the lasso tightened.

Scythe woke suddenly. Her hand went immediately to her throat.

Another jerk of the lasso. She was lifted several inches from her seat. Her feet touched the floor and she sucked in precious breath. Her hands dove to her side.

Another jerk. The assassin's eyes widened as she found the sheath empty. Her hands flew as they searched for a weapon. Still nothing.

Another jerk. Her feet had left the ground. She reached up and grabbed the rope above her head with one hand, hoping to loosen the lasso. It was a pointless gesture. She still couldn't breathe. Her other hand searched her quiver, only to find it empty.

The Phantom pulled again at the rope. The girl was completely suspended now, and she turned slowly as she thrashed. She was facing him now, though she probably couldn't see him. Her eyes were small and rolling with panic, but suddenly they narrowed.

Had she seen her killer?

Her free hand retreated from her cloak. She had somehow produced yet another dagger.

Not a dagger, the Phantom realized. A curved scythe.

The assassin now lashed out with her weapon, hacking mercilessly at the rope. The Phantom jerked the rope again. He doubted that the girl would even live long enough to cut herself down. But Scythe did not relent. She continue to chop at the rope, ignoring completely the Phantom's provocations.

Just a little more, he thought with satisfaction. Just a little more and she will be dead. He felt a sudden lightness in his hands. For a moment he thought that the girl had finally died.

If only he could be so lucky! She had fallen to the ground with a thud, and now lay at his feet, gasping for breath. The Phantom glared down at her in annoyance. No matter though. He would kill her all the same...

"Cow...ard!" Scythe hissed, suddenly rising to her knees. She leaned forward and plunged her weapon into his leg. The Phantom recoiled in agony and reached for his rope, only to find it severed on the ground. The assassin was slowly rising to her feet, her breath still heavy. The Phantom spotted her weapons a few rows behind him. He tried to jump over the first row, only to stumble from the agony in his leg. Behind him, Scythe leaned heavily on a chair for a moment, but pressed forward again, rage distorting her face.

The Phantom lunged forward suddenly and struck Scythe across the face, sending her back to the ground, before he limped away from her wrath. Not a moment too soon- the girl caught herself an instant later and gave chase, pausing only to collect her weapons.

Scythe had no difficulty persuing her attacker. The wound in his leg had left a rather obvious trail of blood, one that she was all too eager to follow. The trail carried her through the Opera House, weaving haphazardly through the hallways until it slid inside a door.

"Sarah?" Christine Daae asked, jogging down the hall toward Scythe. The assassin hesitatated.

"Oh, Mademoiselle Daae! Are you all right?" she cried, making sure her cloak covered her weapons.

"Of course I am...Blood? What on earth is going on here?"

"I heard something...and I saw the blood here...it looks like it leads inside that room! I'm afraid someone might be hurt in there, Mademoiselle. They might need help!" Christine looked up and recoiled slightly.

"Why...that's my dressing room!" she said softly.

"No matter!" Scythe lied, wrenching the door open. The trail of blood continued inside the room. It rushed straight forward, as sure as it was desperate:

And it ended in the center of the room, at the base of a mirror.


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